


An Art Project

by dapatty



Category: Leverage
Genre: Crack, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-27
Updated: 2009-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-26 20:09:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapatty/pseuds/dapatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Parker makes art, or something like it</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Art Project

**Author's Note:**

> This is prompt!ficlet for [](http://quote-inspired.livejournal.com/profile)[**quote_inspired**](http://quote-inspired.livejournal.com/) due Apr. 1 the prompt being: _“You’ve always been crazy, this is just the first chance you’ve had to express yourself.” (Thelma & Louise)._

Eliot Spencer tilted his head to the side, much like a curious dog hearing a very high-pitched sound, and then back center, twice, and still could not make sense of what he was seeing. He still wasn’t sure after the third time.

“Dude, you’re gonna make yourself sea sick. Knock it off,” Hardison said returning to the studio and standing beside his long haired friend.

“Can’t get sea sick if you’re not on a boat,” Eliot insisted and resisted trying for another angle.

“Or you’re gonna hurt your neck. Get yourself all out of alignment.” Hardison started rambling to avoid talking about what they were trying not to look at too hard. “Gotta take care of—.”

“Did you tell her she should paint?” Eliot cut him off. Better to just say it.

“I might have encouraged it, a tad, as an outlet to express herself in a more constructive way,” Hardison recited like he was sticking to a scripted lie.

“You totally told her she was great, didn’t ye?” Eliot asked, but he already knew the answer.

“Like a more introspective Picasso bordering on a Renaissance-Babylonian influence.” Hardison confirmed. “You need to remember to be nice and not your usual charming self.”

“I am the epitome of charm. It’s dazzling, the level of charm—.”

“Whatever. Just lie if you have to.” Hardison muttered, cutting him off.

As if on cue, Parker returned to her newly constructed studio they had been standing in for the last half hour trying to come up with something nice to say. Parker had been painting like crazy for the last two days. She had eight paintings to show for it, well if you used the term painting loosely and in the strictest sense. It looked as though she had already gone through a blue period, a yellow phase, and a bright magenta monstrosity clusterfuck movement.

“Do you like it?” she asked her two comrades. It was the dreaded question.

All Eliot could think was, _What would Nate say?_

“It,” Spencer took a deep breath, “is a very unique interpretation of the feminine mystique as told through the deep blues meeting chaotic reds. It’s quite… encompassing.” He silently prayed it wasn’t actually a picture of a teddy bear or something similar.

“That’s what Nate said,” Parker said with a somewhat disappointed tone and maybe deflated a little. “If you don’t like it, just say so.”

“It’s not that at all,” Eliot insisted.

She glared at him.

“It’s your painting Parker. It’s an extension of you. As long as it says what you want it to say to you then our opinions shouldn’t matter to your expression of self.” Eliot finished and felt a little proud of himself when she did not immediately tackle him.

“This is why you hit things, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Yep, pretty much,” he nodded sagely with the glimmer of a smile in the corners of his lips.

She wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. “Thank you for being honest with me.” She started to dance back out of the room.

“So you aren’t mad at me?” he asked, which may have been his vital mistake. Hardison did give him his best _are you a moron?_ look.

“Oh I’m furious, but I’ll get over if I go steal something. It’s a better productive exercise in self-discipline.” Parker stated and slammed the door behind her.

Eliot looked at Hardison, confused.

“Don’t ask me. Girls are hard and I’m just glad she’s not mad at me about not fixing her phone.” Hardison stated sincerely. “So, drinks and hope to blur these images out our minds through the liberal use of alcohol.”

“That was the plan.” Elliot confirmed and they left the studio, turning out the light as they left. God help them if she took up a hobby like knitting he thought and shuddered at the mental image of matching team sweater-sets of questionable construction and design.

At this rate, they would not be able to get to the bar fast enough.  



End file.
